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Gerard 

Our Little Belgian Cousin 


THE 

Little Cousin Series 


(trade mark) 

Each volume illustrated with six or more full-page plates in 
tint. Cloth, I 2 mo, with decorative cover, 
per volume, 6o cents 

LIST OF TITLES 

By Mary Hazelton Wade 

(unless otherwise indicated) 


Our Little African Cousin 
Our Little Alaskan Cousin 

By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet 

Our Little Arabian Cousin 

By Blanche McManus 

Our Little Argentine Cousin 

By Eva Canon Brooks 

Our Little Armenian Cousin 
Our Little Australian Cousin 

By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet 

Our Little Belgian Cousin 

By Blanche McManus 

Our Little Bohemian Cousin 

By Clara V. Winlow 

Our Little Braizilian Cousin 

By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet 

Our Little Brown Cousin 

Our Little Canadian Cousin 

By Elizabeth R. MacDonald 

Our Little Chinese Cousin 

By Isaac Taylor Headland 

Our Little Cuban Cousin 
Our Little Dutch Cousin 

By Blanche McManus 

Our Little Egyptian Cousin 

By Blanche Me.Manus 

Our Little English Cousin 

By Blanche McManus 

Our Little Eskimo Cousin 

Our Little French Cousin 

By Blanche McManus 

Our Little German Cousin 

Our Little Grecian Cousin 

By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet 


Our Little Hawaiian Cousin 
Our Little Hindu Cousin 

By Blanche McManus 

Our Little Hungarian Cousin 

By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet 

Our Little Indian Cousin 
Our Little Irish Cousin 
Our Little Italian Cousin 
Our Little Japanese Cousin 
Our Little Jewish Cousin 

Our Little Korean Cousin 

By H. Lee M. Pike 
Our Little Mexican Cousin 

By Edward C. Butler 

Our Little Norwegian Cousin 

Our Little Panama Cousin 

By H. Lee M. Pike 

Our Little Persian Cousin 

By E. C. Shedd 
Our Little Philippine Cousin 
Our Little Porto Rican Cousin 
Our Little Portuguese Cousin 

By Edith A. Sawyer 

Our Little Russian Cousin 

Our Little Scotch Cousin 

By Blanche McManus 
Our Little Siamese Cousin 
Our Little Spanish Cousin 

By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet 

Our Little Swedish Cousin 

By Claire M. Coburn 

Our Little Swiss Cousin 
Our Little Turkish Cousin 


. L. C. PAGE & COMPANY 

5 3 Beacon Street, Boston, Mass. 








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Illustrated by 
The Author 



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Boston 

L. C. Page & Company 

MDCCCCXI 










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Copyright^ jgii 
By L. C. Page & Company 

(incorporated) 

All rights reserved 


First Impression, February, 1911 






Preface 


—. ♦- 

Our little Belgian cousins are, of all our 

European cousins, perhaps the most difficult for 

strangers to become acquainted with. As a race 

they resemble, in parts of their tiny country, as 

% 

much the French as they do in other parts^the 
Hollanders. In no way are they an unsympa¬ 
thetic people, but they have been so surrounded 
on all sides by other nations that they have, in 
a way, many of the characteristics of the man¬ 
ners and customs beyond the frontiers. 

Our little Belgian cousins, boys and girls, are, 
on one side, like our little Dutch cousins, and, 
truth to tell, their dress in many cases is not far 
different. Elsewhere they are much like our 
little French cousins of Normandy and Picardy, 
making due allowance for the fact that the con¬ 
ditions of life are harder in Belgium, which is 



VI 


Preface 


a small country compared to France, and in its 
relations with the outside world even more cir¬ 
cumscribed than Holland. 

Nevertheless our little Belgian cousins are 
very human little people, and the Flemish and 
Walloons, and those that speak Dutch, and 
those that speak French are one and all delight¬ 
ful friends, and little American cousins should 
take much pleasure in knowing intimately these 
hard-working but pleasure-loving folk. 

At all events their country is a most historic 
one, and their industry has made the Belgians 
one of the great little nations of the world. 

All little American cousins will appreciate the 
sterling character of Gerard, the little musician, 
and of Helda, the little lace-maker, who became 
such good friends in the quaint old Flemish city 
of Ghent. 


Contents 


♦ 


CHAPTER 

Preface . 

PAGE 

. . V 

I. 

The Little Lace-maker 

I 

II. 

Gerard’s Dog Team , 

• • 31 

III. 

Life on a Flemish Farm 

• 44 

IV. 

The Milk Inspection 

. ^ 55 

V. 

The Band Competition . 

. . 65 

VI. 

The Lost Violin 

• 79 

VIL 

The Kermesse .... 

. . 94 






List of Illu strations 


“ ‘ Good morning,’ he called out smilingly ” (see 

page 32) . Frontispiece 

“ ‘ Oh^ Aunt Ursula, I shall never, never learn,’ 

CRIED Helda ”.24 

Life on a Flemish Farm.44 

“ Vrouw Maes and Saskia filled the two big, 

brass milk - JUGS ”. 57 

“The little band was marching bravely across 

THE KoOTER”.71 

“ The archers were drawn up on the shooting 

FIELD before THEIR TARGETS ” . . . .101 



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"GERARD. OUR LITTLE BELGIAN COUSIN" 








Gerard 

Our Little Belgian Cousin 


-•- 

CHAPTER I 

THE LITTLE LACE - MAKER 

“ Good-by, my child, be a good girl, obey 
your Aunt Ursula in all things, and be sure that 
you do not lose your ticket.” 

Helda’s mother, as she spoke, gave her little 
daughter a hasty kiss as she lifted Helda into 
the waiting train which was to carry her away 
on a visit to her Aunt Ursula. In another min¬ 
ute the chugging engine was pulling the train 
out of the little Belgian wayside station which 
was very near Helda’s home. 

Helda blinked hard to keep back the tears as 
she leaned out the car window and waved her 
handkerchief to her mother standing alone on 



2 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

the platform. When her mother was actually 
out of sight Helda let a big wave of tears roll 
down her cheeks until she suddenly remembered 
that she had on her best Sunday dress; then she 
promptly dabbed her eyes dry and soon ap¬ 
peared quite a self-possessed little girl. 

Helda’s best dress was very fine indeed, and 
being Belgian was quite different from that 
usually worn by little English or American 
cousins. It was made of a rich, black cloth, very 
full and so long that it nearly touched the 
ground. The trimming was of black velvet, 
and over a bodice of the same material there 
was a kerchief of pale blue and green silk, while 
the skirt was nearly covered up by a blue silk 
apron with real lace at the pockets and hem. 
In addition, a string of gold beads circled 
Helda’s neck, and on her head was a white cap 
with deep flaps framing in her rosy cheeks and 
flaxen hair. Her round little face was usually 
wreathed in smiles, but, on this occasion, her 


The Little Lace-maker 


3 


blue eyes were very, very red, though in spite of 
her sadness Helda was as pretty as a little Bel¬ 
gian maid could possibly be. 

The car seats were of plain varnished wood 
and Helda sat uncomfortably on the very edge, 
not daring to lean back for fear of mussing up 
her stiffly starched bonnet. She clasped her 
ticket tightly in one little hot hand and felt as 
timid and miserable as only a little girl can feel 
when away from home alone for the first 
time. 

Helda was really a little Flemish girl. She 
lived in that part of modern Belgium which was 
formerly known as Flanders. The country 
covered just about half of the Belgium of the 
present time, and Helda, like all the people of 
Flanders, was much more proud of being called 
a Fleming than a Belgian. 

Tears welled up in Helda’s eyes once and 
again despite all her efforts, and just as they 
were about to overflow again she felt such a 


4 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

tweak at her hair that she gave a frightened 
little jump and looked around only to find a 
rosy-faced baby crowing in its mother’s arms in 
the seat behind, and reaching out its chubby 
little fingers to play with one of Helda’s stray 
curls. Instead of crying Helda laughed, and the 
baby’s mother, a kindly peasant woman, asked 
Helda to come and sit with them, for she saw 
that the little girl was very lonesome. She gave 
Helda a ginger cake from the big basket beside 
her, and asked many questions about her home 
and was so kind and pleasant that Helda was 
soon at her ease, chatting away as if she had 
never been the least homesick. 

Helda told the woman that the little station 
where she had taken the train was just on the 
edge of her father’s farm, and that you could 
see the red roof of their house far away over 
the flat fields. She told her that there were only 
her mamma and papa and a big brother at 
home, and that there was no baby, but that she 


The Little Lace-maker 5 

wished there was — one just like that which sat 
crooning in its mother’s lap. 

“Are you going far, little one?” asked the 
baby’s mother. 

“ I am going to Ghent,” replied Helda, “ to 
stay with my Aunt Ursula and learn how to 
make lace. Aunt Ursula is a Beguine,” Helda 
said proudly. “ She makes lovely lace, and is 
going to teach me how while I am staying with 
her in the Beguinage.” 

The baby’s mother was very much impressed 
when she learned that Helda’s aunt was a Beg¬ 
uine, and said she was sorry that she and the 
baby were not going to Ghent, too, that they 
might be company for Helda all of the way. 

“ But it is not far and you will soon reach 
there,” the woman told Helda as she and the 
baby left the train a station or two beyond. 

In spite of this good news Helda could not 
help feeling lonely again when the woman and 
the baby had gone. Suppose Aunt Ursula was 


6 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

not at the station to meet her when she arrived, 
thought Helda. What ever would she do? 
And would Aunt Ursula be glad to see her? Of 
this there was really no reason to doubt, but 
Helda stood rather in awe of her relative for, 
after all, she did not know her very well. Her 
aunt could rarely leave her work at Ghent to 
visit Helda’s parents, and the last time that she 
had done so Helda was quite a baby. 

You will wonder, perhaps, just what Helda 
meant when she said her aunt was a Beguine. 
Well, a Beguine is a good woman who occupies 
herself in doing all she possibly can for others. 
The Beguines of Ghent lead simple lives and do 
all the good they can by devoting their strength 
and talents to helping the poor, nursing the sick, 
and giving good counsel to any who may be in 
trouble or want. The Beguines live together in 
a little community, or settlement, of tiny dwell¬ 
ings, which is called a Beguinage. The society 
of Beguines has been known and recognized for 


The Little Lace-maker 7 

the good works of Its members for many hun¬ 
dreds of years and all of them are much re¬ 
spected and looked up to. From this you will 
readily understand just why it was that Helda 
was so proud in being able to say that her aunt 
was a Beguine. 

As the train rolled swiftly on its way houses 
began to dot the landscape much more thickly 
until finally it came to a stop in the great 
glass-roofed station at Ghent. Before she knew 
it Helda found herself standing on the plat¬ 
form in the midst of a crowd of people, still 
tightly holding the basket in which she had her 
belongings, and feeling very much alone, indeed, 
quite lost, for she saw no one that she knew. 

Just at that moment a loving arm was put 
about her and a gentle, sweet voice said: “ I am 
very glad to see my little Helda again.” Helda 
looked up and saw a tall, sweet-faced woman 
dressed all in black bending over her. All of 
Helda’s homesickness vanished in a flash at the 


8 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

sight of the kindly face framed in its becoming 
white cap. 

Aunt Ursula, for it was Aunt Ursula, sure 
enough, took Helda by the hand, and putting 
the basket over her own arm led her little niece 
out into the open square before the station and 
to a street car, or tram, as they are called all 
over Europe. 

“ We have not far to go,” said Aunt Ursula. 
“ But you must be tired after your journey.” 

As they were riding along she asked Helda 
all about the home folks and about herself and 
her life in such a kindly way that by this time 
Helda was quite convinced that no little girl 
ever had an Aunt Ursula quite as nice as 
hers. 

They soon left the tram car and turned down 
a quiet little street paved with great, round 
cobble stones and as clean as a swept floor, 
crossed a bridge over a canal and finally passed 
through a great stone gateway which opened 


The Little Lace-maker 


9 

into a courtyard surrounded by a number of 
buildings. 

Some of these curiously built houses were 
large and some were small, but all were beau¬ 
tifully kept and set about with great trees. All 
was so spotlessly clean, so quiet and so far re¬ 
moved from the noise and bustle of the great 
city that Helda felt quite relieved to have come 
to such a calm and peaceful spot. 

“ This is the Beguinage, and yonder is my 
house,” said Aunt Ursula as they crossed the 
courtyard. They stopped in front of one of the 
smallest of the houses and Helda’s aunt took 
from the deep pocket of her gown an enormous 
key with which she unlocked the door. 

It was a very tiny dwelling, one of a row all 
just alike, built of a dark grey stone with a 
steep roof of red tiles. The doorway was very 
low and arched, and so were the two small win¬ 
dows around which was carved a stone decora¬ 
tion which was really very beautiful. Over the 


lo Our Little Belgian Cousin 

doorway was carved the name of Helda’s aunt; 
simply the word URSULA, this being the name 
by which she was known to all in connection 
with her good works. All of the other good 
women who lived in the Beguinage were also 
known by their first names, as had been the cus¬ 
tom since the institution was founded some hun¬ 
dreds of years ago. 

As they got inside Helda began to look curi¬ 
ously about her. How different it all was from 
everything at home, she thought. There were 
but two rooms, one a kitchen and living-room, 
and the other her aunt’s bed-room. The rooms 
were as neatly kept and as clean as they could 
possibly be, with bare, whitewashed walls, and, 
on one side, a stove which could be used for 
both cooking and heating. This stove was 
partly made of blue porcelain tiles and entirely 
filled what had once been a great hooded chim¬ 
ney. 

There was not much furniture, a cupboard 


The Little Lace-maker 11 

that held some dishes and cooking utensils, a 
table and several high-backed chairs, a chest of 
drawers and a few religious pictures hanging on 
the wall. Helda noticed, too, by the window, 
a little work-table, covered carefully with a 
white cloth, and wondered what was under it. 

“ Here is where you will sleep, little Helda,” 
said Aunt Ursula, as she pointed out a small 
bed beside her own. “ Unpack your basket and 
hang up your things in this cupboard,” she con¬ 
tinued. “ I hope you will be happy here, my 
dear. Now I will busy myself in getting you 
something to eat, and you shall help me, but 
first put on your every-day frock.” 

“ Oh yes, I always help mamma at home to 
prepare the meals,” said Helda, slipping off her 
dress. In a moment she was clad again in a 
dark blue homespun, which was almost entirely 
covered by a big apron. 

“ Now I am ready,” she said, and Aunt Ur¬ 
sula showed her where the china was kept in the 


12 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

old oaken cupboard. Helda took out the curi¬ 
ous blue plates and a big bowl for the soup 
which her aunt served from a big earthenware 
pot which stood on the back of the porcelain 
stove where it had been simmering all the morn¬ 
ing. There is always a big pot of some kind 
of soup bubbling away in every Belgian kitchen, 
for soup often makes the biggest part of the 
dinner with the people of Belgium. 

Helda remembered how hungry she really 
was as she sat down to the thick, savory vege¬ 
table soup with which her aunt filled her blue 
bowl. There were big slices of bread and butter 
to go with it, and afterwards a salad and some 
cheese. Then Aunt Ursula opened a tm box 
and brought out a loaf of gingerbread, rich and 
brown, with blanched almonds stuck all over the 
top. Helda thought it was quite the best gin¬ 
gerbread she had ever eaten, and any one would 
have thought the same, for the gingerbread of 
Ghent, as indeed that of all Belgium, is consid- 


The Little Lace-maker 


13 


ered the best in the world. It was a simple little 
dinner, but good and satisfying, and as much as 
a Belgian family usually has for its midday 
meal. 

“ Is there where you make the lace? ” asked 
Helda, timidly pointing to the little work-table 
by the window. 

Aunt Ursula smiled and rising lifted off the 
cloth and showed Helda the big pillow on 
which the lace is made covered with a forest of 
pins with their bobbins hanging from their 
threads in all directions. Aunt Ursula was just 
now engaged on an elaborate piece of lace in¬ 
tended to be used for the christening robe of a 
royal baby. She explained it all to Helda and 
showed her the little roll of finished lace, and 
pointed out to her how slow the work was and 
how long she had already been engaged upon 
this particular piece. It had occupied her spare 
time for many weeks and it would take as many 
more before the robe was completed. It sur- 


14 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

prised Helda very much indeed to learn that it 
took a day to make one of the tiny flowers, and 
she naturally thought it was the loveliest lace 
she had ever seen. 

“ Oh, may I not begin to learn to make lace 
at once. Aunt Ursula?” Helda exclaimed. 
“ And how long a time will it be before I can 
do as beautiful work as that? ” 

“ No, my child, you must not think of under¬ 
taking to commence your lessons to-day,” re¬ 
plied Aunt Ursula. “ You are too tired from 
your journey. To-morrow you shall have your 
first lesson, and, dear child, though it will take 
much patience and hard work, I hope that some 
day you will be able to make as fine lace as any 
one; it all rests with yourself.” 

“ Now we will get ready and make a little 
visit to the Beguinage,” said Aunt Ursula, after 
Helda had helped her clear away and wash the 
dinner dishes. 

“ Why, the Beguinage is a little city in Itself,” 


The Little Lace-maker 15 

was Helda’s first exclamation after she and her 
aunt had strolled about a few minutes. And so 
it really was, just like an old-time, mediaeval 
city. There were streets and winding alleys, 
and tree-shaded squares and a little church. All 
around the settlement was a high wall, and the 
big gates by which one entered were closed at 
night. 

Most of the Beguines whom Helda saw were 
dressed in the same simple costume as that of 
her aunt, a long black cloth gown with a very 
full skirt, wide sleeves and a white headdress 
that fastened under the chin and fell around the 
shoulders like a cape. 

Aunt Ursula had a smile and a word for 
every one that they passed. “ Those women 
to whom you spoke just now were dressed dif¬ 
ferently from the others,” remarked Helda. 

“Yes, my child, they are new-comers; they 
all live together in that large building yonder, 
and, after a while, they too will wear the real 


i6 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

Beguine dress, and then, if they choose, they 
may come and live in one of the little houses. 
That young girl over there has just come to live 
in the Beguinage,” Aunt Ursula added, as she 
pointed out a young girl with a wreath on her 
head. 

Helda thought it looked very odd to see any 
one walking about with a wreath on their head 
and wondered how she would like it. 

Helda was taken to see the Groot Jufvrouw, 
which means “ the Great Lady.” She was at 
the head of the Beguines. In the Groot Juf- 
vrouw’s room was a glass case full of the most 
beautiful lace which had been made by the Beg¬ 
uines, and which was kept there to sell to vis¬ 
itors, for many strangers from all parts of the 
world come to visit the famous Beguinage of 
Ghent. Helda thought all the lace marvellous; 
some of it seemed as fine as a cobweb and some 
of it, too, was the work of her aunt. When the 
good Jufvrouw heard that Helda had come 


The Little Lace-maker 17 

thither to learn the art of lace-making she patted 
her on the cheek and said that she hoped that 
she would learn to make as fine a quality as that 
of her aunt. 

“ Oh, Aunt Ursula,” cried Helda, as they 
were on their way back, “ I am going to be a 
Beguine all my life and live in a little house like 
yours and make beautiful lace.” Aunt Ursula 
only smiled and told her to wait until she was 
older before attempting to decide so great a 
question. But at the time Helda was quite sure 
that she would never change her mind and al¬ 
ready had begun to wonder how she would look 
if she too had one of the young Beguine’s 
wreaths bound about her head. 

You may be sure that little Helda was tired 
after such a change from her quiet life in the 
country, and after her supper of a bowl of milk 
and rye bread she was very willing to curl up in 
her little white bed and fall asleep before It was 
really dark. 


18 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

Helda awoke the next morning with a start 
and looked about wonderingly when her aunt 
called her. Her aunt’s good-morning kiss 
brought it all back to her quickly enough, and 
she dressed quickly, remembering that she was 
to go to church, and at five o’clock was on the 
way with Aunt Ursula to the pretty, old Beg- 
uinage church. It was the custom in the Beg- 
uinage to go to church twice each day, once 
in the early morning and once in the afternoon. 

As they came back Helda saw a milk cart 
standing before their door, and beside it a 
buxom country woman. This woman wore the 
usual work-a-day dress of the country women 
of Flanders, consisting of a full skirt of rough 
cloth, a black bodice with a colored cotton hand¬ 
kerchief crossed over the shoulders and a white 
linen cap covering the head. On her feet she 
wore heavy wooden shoes, or sabots. 

“ I wonder why the Vrouw Maes is here this 
morning; it is usually her little son who brings 


The Little Lace-maker 19 

the milk,” said Aunt Ursula. “ Where is Ge¬ 
rard this morning? ” she asked, as she greeted 
the milk-woman. Vrouw Maes explained that 
Gerard had sprained his wrist by lifting a very 
heavy milk can. “ Yes,” she said in further 
explanation, “ it is heavy work for Gerard, but 
he must do his part.” She went on to say, too, 
that there was never a cause of complaint with 
Gerard, that he was a good boy and always 
ready to do his share, and that he was very much 
worried by the fact that he was forced to be idle 
for a time. The good Vrouw talked on and on 
as she measured out Aunt Ursula’s milk. 

“ He grieves, too, I dare say,” said Aunt 
Ursula, “ that he can not play his violin.” 

“ Ah, yes, the boy is music mad,” exclaimed 
his mother. 

Aunt Ursula was truly sorry to hear of 
Gerard’s accident for the little boy was a great 
favorite of hers, as he was of every one, so, 
when the Vrouw was ready to leave, she brought 


20 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

out a remedy for the sprained wrist and told her 
if she rubbed the liquid well into the sprain that 
the wrist would soon be well again. 

“ Now for our first lesson in lace-making,” 
said Aunt Ursula when they had finished their 
breakfast of cofiee and rye bread. “ You see 
I have all your materials ready for you,” she 
said as she went over to the great chest of 
drawers and took out a lace-maker’s pillow, a 
set of bobbins and the necessary thread. “ You 
may always keep them here, and I will also give 
you a white linen cloth in which to wrap them, 
for the first thing to learn about lace-making is 
to take great care to keep the work clean. Now 
wash your hands well and we will begin by 
winding the bobbins.” 

” Oh,” said Helda, as she sighed with delight 
and sat down on a low stool beside her aunt’s 
chair, her lace pillow on her knee and the pol¬ 
ished wooden bobbins and the spools of thread 
beside her in a box. 


The Little Lace-maker 


21 


“ Now your best plan, my child, will be to 
watch me work this morning,” said Helda’s 
aunt, after she had wound all her bobbins. “ I 
will show you just how the bobbins are to be 
used,” and she uncovered her own pillow with 
its piece of lace already begun and sat down to 
work. 

It fascinated Helda to watch her aunt’s nim¬ 
ble fingers fly around among the bobbins. 
“ Click-clack, click-clack,” went the bobbins; it 
was indeed like magic to one who knew nothing 
about the work to see how deftly and rapidly 
the bobbins and their threads were moved about 
among the pins stuck in the pillow. 

While the bobbins danced about. Aunt Ur¬ 
sula explained that the christening robe of the 
royal baby had been entrusted to the Beguines 
to make and was considered a great compliment; 
all their best lace-makers were at work on it at 
the present time, each doing a certain part. 

It was real “ rose-point,” as the finest Belgian 


22 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

lace is called, and Aunt Ursula was making the 
fine net foundation as well as the flower design, 
and she explained to Helda that this was such 
a very costly method of making lace that but 
very small quantities were actually made in this 
way to-day. 

This variety of lace is called “ Brussels lace,” 
because so much of it is now made in Brussels, 
the capital city of Belgium. 

“ Once upon a time,” went on Aunt Ursula, 
“ all of this lace was made by the workers in 
their own homes, as we are making it here to¬ 
day in the Beguinage, but now there are thou¬ 
sands of women and girls working in big, noisy 
factories, instead of quietly and comfortably in 
their own houses, and the lace is cheapened in 
quality and price because the owners of the great 
factories are anxious to produce and sell large 
quantities in order to make money fast. Not 
much of the modern lace is as well made as 
when I first learned the art, at an age,” con- 


The Little Lace-maker 23 

tinued Aunt Ursula, “ considerably less than 
yours, Helda.” 

“ Nobody’s lace could possibly be lovelier 
than yours, Aunt Ursula,” said Helda warmly. 

“ Ah, well,” answered her aunt, modestly, 
“ it is true that my lace has had much praise, 
and I may tell you, my dear, without being too 
proud, that the biggest factory in Brussels 
wanted me to come to them and take charge of 
all their work-women, and I could have made, 
oh, I don’t know how much money, but I would 
not leave my dear Beguinage to go and work 
in a factory for all the money in Brussels!” 
And with this Aunt Ursula settled herself back 
in her chair with a determined air. 

After the midday meal Aunt Ursula pinned 
an easy little pattern on Helda’s pillow, and the 
little girl began her first lace-making lesson in 
earnest. Poor little Helda’s troubles now com¬ 
menced. What seemed so easy with her aunt’s 
deft fingers became a hopeless tangle when she 


24 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

tried to accomplish the same thing. The bob¬ 
bins and threads seemed to mix themselves up 
into knots and tangles of themselves and again 
and again Helda had to search out the way to 
unravel them. The day wore on and Helda 
had not even made the beginning of her de¬ 
sign. 

“ Oh, Aunt Ursula, I shall never, never 
learn,” cried Helda, very nearly in despair after 
a dozen trials. 

“ Patience, my dear child, patience; it is only 
by patience that you will ever learn; you must 
try again,” said Aunt Ursula more than once as 
she helped Helda straighten out the knotted 
threads. 

Just then another of the Beguine women came 
to the door and called her aunt away on some 
business and poor Helda was left alone with her 
troubles. Her cheeks burned and she felt as if 
her fingers were all thumbs and the tears were 
ready to fall from her eyes. Finally she gave 



'“oh, aunt URSULA, I SHALL NEVER, NEVER LEARN,’ CRIED 


HELD A 






























The Little Lace-maker 


25 


a violent jerk and all the pins in her pillow 
marking the pattern went flying on to the floor. 
This was the last straw. Helda flung her pillow 
across the room and dashed out of the house 
upsetting her box of threads as she went. 

Fearful that some one might stop and ques¬ 
tion her Helda slipped into an alley and just 
ahead spied a gateway which led out on to the 
canal bank. There was no one in sight and she 
threw herself down on the grassy bank, pulled 
her apron over her head and cried as if her heart 
would break. She knew this was very wrong, 
too, for she had been told by her aunt never to 
leave the Beguinage alone, or unless she was 
sent for, but now she did not care in the least. 
She hated Ghent, she hated the Beguinage, and, 
above all, she hated lace-making. She really 
could not bring herself to thinking that she 
hated her good, kind Aunt Ursula, but she did 
think that she had been cruel to her by making 
her work so hard. She knew she was a wicked 


26 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

little girl, but she liked being wicked, at least 
so she tried to make herself believe. 

Oh, what a wretched day it had been. Oh, 
why had she ever left her dear home and her 
kind papa and mamma who thought that there 
was no one like their own little girl? She would 
tell her aunt that she must go home to-morrow, 
and at the thought of home she buried her face 
deeper in her apron and wept more bitterly than 
ever. 

Just then Helda heard a mocking laugh and 
felt something strike her. She threw off her 
apron from her head and saw a great ball of 
mud on her nice clean dress, and across the 
canal was a big boy with a fishing rod in his 
hand who was laughing at her and just getting 
ready to throw another missile. 

Much frightened Helda jumped up and crept 
back to the Beguinage. How late it was! Had 
her aunt missed her? Perhaps she would think 
that her little niece had fallen into the canal and 


The Little Lace-maker 27 

was drowned. Helda almost wished she had. 
This had been the hatefulest day in all her life. 

As she made her way back to the house Helda 
tried to rub the mud oh her dress, hoping all 
the time that her aunt had not returned. But 
Aunt Ursula was already at the door, peering 
anxiously up and down the little street. Helda 
saw her as soon as she turned the corner. 

“ My dear child,” cried Aunt Ursula, open¬ 
ing her arms wide, “ I should not have left you 
alone in the house; it was all my fault.” There 
was not a word of blame for her from her aunt, 
not a question as to where she had been, even. 
Helda threw herself sobbing into her aunt’s 
arms, and all she could say was that she was a 
very naughty girl. 

Aunt Ursula took the child indoors, and sit¬ 
ting in her high oak chair by the window she 
held her on her knee and soothed her as if she 
had been a baby. Aunt Ursula knew well 
enough that it was only an attack of homesick- 


28 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

ness and the strangeness of everything about her 
that had so upset the little girl. She well re¬ 
membered how she herself had felt the first time 
she left home to go among strangers, and she 
remembered that, after all, she was practically 
a stranger to the little girl. 

When Helda’s tears were dried she was per¬ 
suaded to eat some of the tempting little supper 
which Aunt Ursula had prepared. There were 
big strawberries, such as one finds In Belgium 
where the strawberries are famous, and a nice 
cream cheese flavored with tiny green herbs, 
which though new to Helda was thought by her 
to be quite a delicacy, as Indeed It was. 

After swallowing a few mouthfuls of her sup¬ 
per Helda began to feel much better and her 
tears were quite over by the time she had fin¬ 
ished. 

After supper Aunt Ursula took her again on 

her knee and told her of her own early struggles 
learning to make lace. Many a good cry she 


The Little Lace-maker 


29 


had had over her many blunders. “ And a 
strict teacher I had, too,” she said. “ You may 
think your old aunt cross, my dear, but teachers 
were much more strict in the old days than 
now.” 

“ I remember,” continued Aunt Ursula, 
smiling to herself, “ that sometimes my teacher 
used to prick my fingers with one of the lace 
pins when I tangled up my threads.” 

“ Oh, how cruel,” cried out Helda, “ you 
could never, never do a thing like that, dear 
Aunt Ursula.” 

“ No,” said her aunt, and she laughed softly 
to herself. “ Perhaps that was carrying things 
a bit too far, but I must have been a trial to the 
dear old lady who taught me; I had a temper 
in those days; it runs in our family, as you see,” 
she continued, with a twinkle in her eye. 

Helda’s^ head drooped. How horribly 
ashamed of herself she had become. 

The next day things went much better and 


30 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

little by little Helda learned to use her bobbins 
without snarling them up until soon her daily 
task over her lace pillow became the pleasantest 
duty of the day. Her troubles were not wholly 
over by any means, but she was learning patience 
and perseverance as well as lace-making under 
the loving care of Aunt Ursula. And now, at 
last, more than ever, she was glad that she had 
come to Ghent. 


CHAPTER II 


Gerard’s dog team 

It was Helda’s duty each morning, when the 
tinkle-tinkle of the bells of the milk wagon were 
heard, to go to the door with a stone jug for 
the milk. Little girls in America would think 
it very strange to have the milk brought to their 
doors by a cart drawn by dogs. Dog carts are 
used in Belgium for many trades. There are 
milk carts, vegetable carts, laundry carts, bakers’ 
carts and many others which are drawn over the 
cobbled streets of the towns and over the coun¬ 
try roads as well, sometimes for great distances, 
by dogs. The dogs are harnessed in much the 
same way that a pony would be at home. The 
dogs almost entirely take the place of horses for 

light work of this kind, especially in Flanders. 

31 


32 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

One morning, after Helda had been nearly 
two weeks at the Beguinage, she opened the 
door as she heard the bells of the milk cart and 
saw a little boy sitting jauntily on the side of 
the cart calling out to one of his dogs who was 
seemingly trying to turn around in his harness. 
The boy wore a grey linen blouse, belted in at 
the waist, black knee trousers, tied at the knee 
with black ribbons, and coarse, grey, knitted 
stockings covered his sturdy calves while big, 
yellow, wooden sabots took the place of shoes. 

“ Good morning,” he called out smilingly, 
jumping up when he saw Helda, and touching 
his high peaked cap with a sort of military 
salute — that is, he said what is Flemish for 
good morning. 

“ You are the little girl from Bruges, I sup¬ 
pose.” 

“ And you are the little boy who sprained his 
wrist,” ventured Helda, with a glance at his 
wrist, which was still bandaged. 


33 


Gerard’s Dog Team 

“ Little ! Pooh I How many boys of twelve 
are as big as I? ” cried the boy, broadening his 
shoulders and standing on tiptoe. “ Why, I am 
taller than Hubert,” he continued, “ and he is 
fourteen.” 

“ And I am almost ten,” answered Helda 
proudly. And then feeling that the acquaint¬ 
anceship was not beginning happily she added 
politely, “ I hope your wrist is better.” 

“ Oh, it’s nearly well now,” said the boy, as 
he took his measure, which hung beside the 
brightly polished brass milk jugs, and filled it 
with milk, which he poured into Helda’s pitcher. 
“ You see I am obliged to begin my rounds 
again because my mother is too busy to do the 
work herself, and besides I am the man of the 
house, and my mother depends upon me.” 

“ Ah! there is Gerard; I wondered why the 
milk was so slow in arriving this morning. You 
little folks are chatting away as if there was 
nothing else to think of,” said Aunt Ursula as 


34 Oui* Little Belgian Cousin 

she appeared at the door. She gave a look at 
Gerard’s bad wrist, and told him to be careful 
for some time yet, and bade him leave his cart 
and come inside and have a cup of coffee and 
some bread with them. 

“Here is something for the dogs, too; you 
may give it to them, Helda,” said her aunt as 
she took a bowl of scraps from a shelf. 

“ They are looking for it already, the rascals; 
they know that they are never forgotten here,” 
laughed Gerard, pointing to the dogs who had 
turned and dragged the cart almost through the 
open door. The milk-cart dogs of Flanders are 
usually well treated at the houses of their cus¬ 
tomers, so they naturally look forward to the 
morning round with pleasure in spite of their 
hard work. 

“ Watch Bouts, the younger dog, the one on 
the outside,” said Gerard to Helda. “ Hugo, 
the old dog, has taught him his place, and that 
he must wait his turn.” 


Gerards Dog Team 35 

Bouts had jumped forward as if he hoped 
to free himself from his harness, but Hugo only 
had to show his teeth once and give a low growl 
when he quieted down as meekly as a lamb and 
waited until the older dog had taken his choice, 
when he was allowed to have what remained. 

“ Bouts is only a year old, while Hugo is 
almost as old as I,” explained Gerard. “ Poor 
old Hugo, he is getting almost too old to work, 
but we must keep on, old fellow,” continued 
Gerard. 

Gerard was a universal favorite and his cus¬ 
tomers were all glad to see him back again. 

“ Gerard comes a long way,” explained Aunt 
Ursula, “ and has to rise every morning at four 
o’clock.” 

Gerard and Helda, as may be imagined, be¬ 
came great friends. He told her all about his 
life on the farm just outside of Ghent, and how 
he milked the cows and helped with the vege¬ 
table garden, for his mother also grew vege- 


36 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

tables in great quantities for the city markets. 
His mother brought these vegetables herself to 
market on certain days of the week and worked 
very hard, while Saskia, Gerard’s little sister, 
did her share, too. 

“ Saskia is only eight, and is at school every 
day, but next week, when she has a holiday, I 
will bring her around to see you,” said Gerard 
to Helda. 

In return Helda told Gerard about her own 
home and her papa and mamma and her big 
brother Dirk, who was in Antwerp at the Com¬ 
mercial Institute studying so that he might be¬ 
come a great merchant. 

Helda’s papa was a flax-grower and sold his 
flax to the great factories in Ghent, where they 
made it into fine linen, for in Ghent, and many 
other towns in Flanders, was made some of the 
finest linen cloth known to the world. 

Helda thought that hers was the prettiest 
house in Flanders, sitting as it did in the midst 


Gerard s Dog Team 37 

of the flax fields. It was built of red brick and 
had a blue slate roof and heavy wooden shut¬ 
ters painted a bright green. 

Helda and Gerard thus exchanged confidences 
every morning. But it was about his band of 
boy musicians that Gerard talked more than 
anything else. Next to his mother and little 
Saskia Gerard most loved music, and the band 
which he had organized was the pride of his 
life. Each little Belgian boy and girl can play 
on some instrument or sing, and more often 
than not can do both, and each little Belgian 
village has its own bands and orchestras and 
singing classes. 

Gerard played the violin very well indeed. 
At first the school-master had taught him what 
he knew, but Gerard soon outdistanced him. 
After practising at home alone for a time Ge¬ 
rard finally got several of his boy friends in the 
neighborhood to meet at his house that they 
might practise together, each helping one an- 


38 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

other with good advice, though it was easy to 
see that it was Gerard who was the real leader. 

After the formation of the band the next step 
was to choose a name, for all the bands, or 
“ circles ” as they are called in Flanders, have 
a name. 

After many suggestions they decided to call 
themselves the “ Circle Leuw van Vlaanderen,” 
which is Flemish for the “ Lion of Flanders.” 
This was a big-sounding name and that is one 
of the reasons why it was taken, and also be¬ 
cause the lion is the emblem of Belgium. 

Gerard confided to Aunt Ursula and Helda 
that it was the dream of his life to become a 
great violinist, and how he would like to study 
at some great Conservatory of Music, but that 
he could not leave his mother, for since his 
father had died he had to be the “ man at 
home.” 

Helda sympathized with his ambitions and 
told him in turn about the singing classes of 


Gerard’s Dog Team 39 

boys and girls to which she belonged, and how 
they met every Thursday afternoon at the 
school-house for practice, and how every little 
while they would give a concert and invite their 
home folks. 

The following week Gerard brought his sis¬ 
ter to the Beguinage. She was a chubby, round- 
faced little girl, so shy and stiff in her holiday 
dress and white cap that she looked almost like 
a jointed wooden doll. But after Helda had 
showed off her lace-work, and Aunt Ursula had 
cut her off a big slice of gingerbread, she felt 
more at home and acted quite naturally so that 
when she left she invited Helda to come out to 
the farm and see her white guinea pigs. 

In the days that followed Helda would carry 
her aunt’s basket as she went about on her char¬ 
itable works, and would often take some simple 
toy or a bouquet of flowers to some sick child 
herself. 

Aunt Ursula, on their walks, would tell Helda 


40 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

stories of old Ghent, and point out to her many 
celebrated old buildings. She told her that 
Ghent was once famous for glove-making, and 
that the name Ghent (or Gand) meant glove, 
and how to-day the glove-making industry had 
fallen far behind those of linen and fine 
lace. 

Helda saw the great bleaching grounds where 
the manufactured linen was whitened by the 
sun and dew, and wondered very much if any 
that she saw was made from her father’s 
flax. 

When the chimes rang out from the tall town 
belfry Helda would recall the tale told her by 
her aunt of how these forty-four big bells used 
to ring out in the old days to call the people of 
the city to arms, or to let them know of a vic¬ 
tory for their soldiery. 

The belfries of Flanders are famous; there is 
one to be found in all the old cities and towns. 
The most celebrated is at Bruges, which Helda 


Gerard’s. Dog Team . 41 

had seen and heard its great bells peal, but she 
did not know what every little American cousin 
ought to know, that the poet Longfellow wrote 
some beautiful verses about it called “ The Bel¬ 
fry of Bruges.” 

“ I must take some things to a sick person 
% * 

and you can help me carry them, and we can 
stop at Vrouw Maes on our way,” said Aunt 
Ursula to Helda one bright morning. 

They took the tramway near the great gate 
of the Beguinage and had soon left the city 
behind and were following along by the side 
of the open road. The country roundabout was 
perfectly flat, there were no great forests and 
not many single trees, only a few grouped here 
and there about the scattered farmhouses. 
Flanders is very much like Holland, which is 
its next door neighbor, as you will know if you 
have read “ Our Little Dutch Cousin.” There 
are long, sluggish canals crossing the country in 
every direction, crossed by many little bridges 


42 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

which can be turned to allow the canal-boats 
and barges to pass. 

“ Here we are at last at the lane leading to 
Vrouw Maes,” said Aunt Ursula as they got off 
the tram, and turned off the highroad towards 
the farm. 

“ And here is Saskia,” cried Helda, as the 
little girl came running up to meet them. 

Saskia slipped her hand in Helda’s and the 
two little girls skipped on before Aunt Ursula. 
Saskia had just come from school and pointed 
out the school-house to Helda across the fields. 
Really it was not far away, but by the road it 
was at least two miles, and Saskia walked there 
and back every day and did not mind it in the 
least. 

Saskia chatted with Helda about her school, 
and the singing class and how she was being 
taught to sew. When not at school she helped 
her mother about the house and in the vegetable 
garden, and she told Helda that when there was 


Gerard’s Dog Team 43 

nothing else to do she was in the habit of taking 
one of the cows out to graze by the roadside, 
leading it on a rope that it might not stray into 
the neighboring fields. 


CHAPTER III 


LIFE ON A FLEMISH FARM 

Aunt Ursula and Helda found Vrouw 
Maes in her vegetable garden hard at work 
gathering peas. 

“ Do not stop, I beg of you,” said Aunt 
Ursula, as the good Vrouw came forward to 
greet her visitors. “ I know you are busy 
gathering your vegetables for the market to¬ 
morrow. I will leave Helda here with Saskia 
and call for her on my way back after I have 
finished my errand.” 

“ I will have a bowl of fresh milk ready for 
you then,” said the Vrouw, putting down the 
heaping basketful of vegetables which she had 
been carrying. 

“ Let us find Gerard,” said Saskia, as Aunt 
Ursula disappeared. 


44 



LIFE ON A FLEMISH FARM. 








Life on a Flemish Farm 45 

Vrouw Maes’ house was like most of the 
farmhouses of Flanders, so very low and flat 
that one could hardly see more than its red tiled 
roof above the level of the field until quite 
close. It was of red brick, covered with a yel¬ 
low plaster, and with the dairy and cow-shed 
it surrounded a little courtyard which was paved 
with cobble stones. Here, in the courtyard, 
Gerard was busy mending the dogs’ harness, 
while the dogs themselves lay near him half 
asleep. Gerard jumped up surprised and 
pleased to see his little friend of the Beguinage, 
and the dogs also leaped about and wagged 
their tails in welcome, for they, too, recognized 
a friend in Helda. 

“ I am getting my harness in good shape for 
the inspection,” said Gerard. “ Everything 
must be in good order then, you know.” 

“Where is the inspection to be?” asked 
Helda. 

“ In the Kooter, at six o’clock in the mom- 


46 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

ing, just a week from to-day,” answered Ge¬ 
rard. 

” I should like to see it,” said Helda. “ I 
wonder if Aunt Ursula would take me.” 

There is one day in the year when all the 
milk carts of a certain district are inspected by 
the government officials and all milk jugs and 
dog-carts, you may be sure, are made to look 
their best on that day. 

Helda was shown all about the place. She 
saw the little white guinea pigs in their hutch 
in one corner of the courtyard, and fed them 
carrots which Gerard gave her. She visited the 
long, low building where the cows were shel¬ 
tered, each in a stall by itself, all whitewashed 
and kept very clean with plenty of fresh straw 
on the floor. 

Helda visited the dairy, too, which was built 
partly underground. Here were the big crocks 
of milk standing in a sort of stone trough, with 
running water around them to keep the milk 


Life on a Flemish Farm 47 

cool and fresh, while the brass jugs which were 
carried on the cart mornings were all standing 
in a row, with a polish as bright as hard rubbing 
could give them. 

Gerard showed Helda where his band met 
for practice up in the low attic of the house, 
close under the red tiles of the roof, with great 
wooden beams overhead and only one small 
window in the gable. 

Here were some heavy wooden benches and 
some roughly made stands to hold the music, 
and near the window, two old weather-stained 
sea-chests with rope handles, which had be¬ 
longed to Gerard’s great-uncle, who had been 
a captain of a fishing vessel that hailed from 
Nieuport, a little town on the Belgian coast, 
just over the border from France. 

One end of the attic was curtained off and 
behind the curtain was Gerard’s sleeping room. 
His cot stood in a corner under the eaves, and 
near it was a shelf that held the prize books 


48 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

which he had won at school, while above hung 
a tiny looking-glass of the kind that makes one’s 
face look zig-zag. There were two or three 
fishing rods, a ball and the usual belongings 
which lumber up a boy’s room. 

Since there was no wash bowl or pitcher it is 
well to know that Gerard ran down in the morn¬ 
ing and washed his face and hands by the side 
of the old stone well in the courtyard, and when 
he wanted a bath he took a swim in the canal 
which ran before the house. 

'Gerard’s Sunday and holiday suit of clothes 
was kept carefully packed away in one of the 
sea-chests, and on top of the other rested Ge¬ 
rard’s beloved violin. 

“ Oh, do play for us,” cried Helda, as she 
spied the instrument. 

“ Yes, do play, brother,” chimed in little 
Saskia, “ you know Helda has never heard 
you.” 

Gerard took his violin tenderly from its case 


Life on a Flemish Farm 49 

and slowly drew the bow across the strings once 
or twice and gave a turn or two to the keys 
when there suddenly burst forth a wonderful 
melody which echoed and re-echoed back from 
the rafters overhead. 

Helda listened in amazement. She had never 
dreamed that Gerard Maes, who brought the 
milk each morning to the Beguinage, could play 
like that! 

“Well done, Gerard,” said a voice at the 
door as Gerard finished. “ I am proud of you, 
and I prophesy great things for you some day,” 
said Aunt Ursula, for it was she, having finished 
her errand, who was at the door. Gerard 
flushed with her praise, for he had a very high 
opinion of all that Aunt Ursula said. 

“ It is true, Gerard plays even better than 
did his father, but he must not neglect his work 
for his music as I am afraid he does sometimes,” 
said Vrouw Maes, shaking her head. 

“ But of course you would like to have 


50 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

Gerard become famous,” continued Aunt 
Ursula. 

” Yes, truly, if it were possible,” answered 
his mother. “ He dreams night and day of 
going to the city to study, but I can not spare 
him from the farm just yet.” 

Gerard put away his violin with a sigh, and 
they all went down to the big front room of 
the house which was kept more for show than 
for use. There is always one room of this class 
in a Belgian house, and here all the best things 
are kept and visitors entertained. 

A big, hooded chimney filled one side of the 
room and above it on the mantel there were 
some old china plates and bowls with queer 
painted landscapes. On the dresser and around 
the walls were a number of platters and jugs of 
finely embossed and polished copper. 

Vrouw Maes brought in a jug of fresh milk, 
warm from the cow, and a dish of cakes, which 
are called the conques of Dinant, a sort of gin- 


Life on a Flemish Farm 51 

gerbread cookie made only at Dlnant in Bel¬ 
gium, or by folk who had formerly lived there, 
as had Vrouw Maes. 

When Aunt Ursula and Helda left Gerard 
and Saskia walked with them as far as the tram. 
As they turned into the main road a big boy 
passed them, driving a cart loaded with vege¬ 
tables and drawn by two dogs. There was not 
only as heavy a load as the poor dogs could 
stagger along with, but the boy had perched 
himself on top of all and was beating the poor 
dogs, who looked very thin and ill-kept, into a 
gallop. 

“ Oh! what a cruel boy, to beat his poor dogs 
like that,’* exclaimed Helda. “Oh! it is the 
boy who was fishing in the canal.” She stopped 
suddenly and bit her lip. 

“ Stop that, Hubert,” called out Gerard to 
the boy, his eyes aflame. “ It’s a shame for a 
great boy like you to ride on top of a heavy 
load like that and beat your dogs, too.” 


52 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

The boy only laughed until Aunt Ursula re¬ 
proved him too, when he slid sulkily off his 
cart. Then catching sight of Helda he pointed 
his finger at her mockingly and called out: 
“ Hello, cry-baby.” 

“ Why, where have you ever seen Hubert 
before?” asked Gerard, surprised. 

Helda blushed; she could not bear to think 
of that disgraceful day, and merely said that she 
had seen him fishing in the canal near the Beg- 
uinage. 

“ He is a bad boy,” went on Gerard. “ He 
treats his dogs so badly that he has had trouble 
with the officials more than once, and has al¬ 
ready been fined.” 

“ He does not like you, brother, one bit,” 
said Saskia. 

“ No, I know he doesn’t,” answered Gerard, 
“ and I am sorry, for he is a member of our 
band.” 

“ How does that happen? ” asked Helda, sur- 


Life on a Flemish Farm 53 

prised. “ If you do not like him why did you 
take him into your band? ” 

“ Well, he is one of our best musicians, and 
he was one of our crowd, so you see he could 
not well have been left out,” explained Gerard. 
“ But none of us like him, he is so overbearing. 
Besides he has a grudge against me; I know it. 
for I made him stop ill-treating his dogs one 
day and the officials heard of it and got after 
him. I did not tell on him, though. I am not 
a tell-tale. But he thought I did, and has never 
forgotten it. 

“ The real reason is that he is jealous of you 
and wants to be the leader of the band himself,” 
said Saskia wisely. 

“ I am sure he could not lead the band as 
well as you; he does not look as though he 
could do anything as nice as play the violin,” 
said Helda, recalling the mud with which he 
had bespattered her dress. 

“ Well, for some reason, he has got a grudge 


54 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

against me, and I am afraid he will do me an 
ill turn some day,” sighed Gerard, who was the 
least quarrelsome boy in all Flanders, and who 
would have liked to be friends with every one. 

There was a tram awaiting when they got to 
the main road, and bidding good-by to their 
little friends Aunt Ursula and Helda were soon 
back to the Beguinage. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE MILK INSPECTION 

“ Gerard, my son, you know you must get 
up an hour earlier to-day,” called out Vrouw 
Maes one morning from the foot of the ladder¬ 
like stairs which led to Gerard’s attic. 

“ Yes, mother, I hear you,” answered Gerard, 
sleepily, as he tumbled out of bed and began to 
dress. 

He rushed with his breakfast, swallowing his 
coffee while it was still very hot, and munching 
his rye bread spread with cold goose-grease 
(which took the place of butter), hurriedly. 

To-day the milk carts and their wares were 

to be inspected. The laws which govern the 

sale of milk in Belgium are very strict, and the 

officials were also expected to report on the 

55 


56 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

general appearance of the carts, particularly 
with respect to the dogs and their harness. Al¬ 
most all Belgian dogs work, and you will see 
how very good the people are to their animals 
when you know that they are inspected and 
cared for by government officials. In Belgium 
there are very few dogs kept merely as house 
pets, and little Saskia and her school-mates al¬ 
ways looked upon one little girl in their class 
with awe because at home her people had a dog 
which had nothing to do but sleep on the door 
mat and bark at strangers. 

There were of course many dogs that were 
not treated as well as those of Gerard. Some 
dogs, like Hubert’s, were often beaten and 
given loads too heavy for them to draw with¬ 
out injury to their health, but, as a general 
thing, the dogs that drew the milk carts had a 
very good time of it. 

Hugo and Bouts came bounding up at Ge¬ 
rard’s whistle as he crossed the courtyard, and 





VROUW MAES AND SASKIA FILLED THE TWO BIG, BRASS 

MILK - JUGS.” 










The Milk Inspection 57 

were soon harnessed up and hitched to the cart. 
The harness buckles were nicely polished, and 
Gerard had repainted the cart, the body bright 
yellow and the wheels red. 

Vrouw Maes and Saskia filled the two big, 
brass milk-jugs with fresh, creamy milk and 
gave them a final rub which made them so bril¬ 
liant that little Saskia could see her face in them 
as in a looking-glass. 

The dogs and their cart looked very jaunty 
as they trotted off, Gerard running beside them 
cracking his whip, while Hugo and Bouts, their 
red tongues hanging out of their mouths, took 
great pleasure in setting the pace. 

The Kooter, or public square, was the liveli¬ 
est place you could have found in Ghent that 
morning. It was full of carts and brass jugs, 
all brilliantly sparkling in the morning sun, and 
dogs were leaping about and tangling them¬ 
selves up in each other’s harness in most con¬ 
fusing fashion, barking, biting and yelping 


58 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

across at each other and making such a noise 
that one would have thought it was a dog show 
that was going on instead of a milk inspec¬ 
tion. 

The dogs’ owners were having a busy time of 
it, too. Women and girls in their bright 
dresses and shawls and white caps, and boys in 
their grey blouses and their queer wooden shoes 
were trying to separate their dogs and keep 
them from fighting. 

At last all the carts had arrived and the In¬ 
spectors began their march down the lines. 
They would look Into the jugs and taste the 
milk to find out If It was sweet and had not been 
watered. They looked to see that none of the 
harness chafed the dogs, and that they were 
well cared for, and were very particular that 
each cart carried a piece of carpet for the dogs 
to lie on when resting, so that they should not 
be obliged to He on the cold, wet ground or 
stones. Besides this each cart was obliged to 


The Milk Inspection 59 

carry a bowl from which the dogs might have 
a drink from time to time. From this you will 
see that the Belgians really do take great care 
of even their working dogs. 

Gerard watched the inspectors as they came 
down the line with a light heart; he knew that 
his little outfit was in good condition. The in¬ 
spectors scolded a few of the dog owners, 
showed others where their harness was badly 
arranged and told still others that their dogs 
looked a bit thin and overworked, but no one 
was actually fined. 

Gerard was nearly at the end of the line and 
as the inspector came up he touched his cap 
politely. 

“ Ah, everything looks all right here, my lit¬ 
tle friend,” said the chief inspector, glancing 
appreciatively at the spick and span little team, 
and giving a good-natured nod, for he always 
remembered Gerard’s bright face. 

“We’ll just give a look in,” the inspector 


6 o Our Little Belgian Cousin 

continued, and uncovering one of Gerard’s jugs 
he tasted the milk. 

As Gerard watched him he saw him frown. 
He tasted again. “ Humph,” said the Inspector, 
” this milk Is watered, my little man.” 

Gerard felt as If the whole Kooter and all 
that was In It was whirling around and around. 

“ Oh! Mynheer; It can not be so; we would 
never do such a thing; ask anybody who knows 
me,” cried Gerard, looking wildly around for 
one friendly face. 

The Inspectors whispered together; they 
were sorry for they had never before made any 
complaints against the milk from Vrouw Maes’ 
dairy. Finally they told Gerard that they must 
fine him, no matter how much they might hate 
to do so. It might well have been an accident, 
to be sure, but It would be unfair to the other 
milk-dealers for them to pass It over. They 
would, however, make the fine a small one as 
the reputation of his milk had hitherto been so 


The Milk Inspection 6i 

f 

good. They felt, too, that whatever may have 
been the reason for it that it would never happen 
again. 

Poor Gerard could only protest. He could 
not possibly imagine how water could by any 
means have got into his milk; he had seen his 
mother bring it directly from the cows and pour 
it into the jugs. More than all it was the dis¬ 
grace which hurt Gerard so much. He felt that 
he should never be able to hold up his head 
again, and for such a thing to have happened 
on the crowded Kooter before everybody was 
almost too much for him to bear. 

“ I have no, money with me,” stammered 
Gerard, miserably conscious that everybody was 
staring at him. 

“ I am sorry, my little fellow; then we must 
take possession of your cart until you can bring 
us the money for the fine,” said the inspector, 
kindly but firmly. 

“ I will pay the fine. How much is It? ” said 


62 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

a voice close at hand. It was Aunt Ursula who, 
just observing Gerard and overhearing the con¬ 
versation, had come to his rescue. She and 
Helda had seen from a distance that something 
was wrong and had made their way through the 
crowd to Gerard’s aid. 

“ Oh, Jufvrouw, tell them I did not do this 
thing,” cried Gerard, his heart bounding again 
with hope at the sight of his friends. 

“ Of course you did not, Gerard; everybody 
knows that you would not do such a thing,” ex¬ 
claimed Helda, who felt almost as badly as did 

I 

Gerard himself. 

Aunt Ursula paid the fine and spoke seriously 
to the inspector, warmly praising Gerard and his 
mother and declaring her belief in their inno¬ 
cence. Other customers of Gerard now began 
to come up, and they took the little milk-man’s 
part, saying that the milk from the Maes’ dairy 
had always been found good and pure. 

Gerard, half choking with tears, thanked his 


63 


The Milk Inspection 

good friend, the Beguine, again and again for 
her kindness, and told her that he would pay her 
back the money next day. 

“ No, it is a little present which I make to 
you. I was going to make you a gift at Christ¬ 
mas, but, instead, I will give it to you now. It 
is the same thing, is it not? So do not thank 
me again, dear boy, but hurry home and tell 
your mother not to worry either, for every one 
must know it was not of your doing.” 

It was a sorrowful little group that gathered 
around the Maes’ supper table that night at the 
farm. No one had any appetite. It was Saskia 
who suddenly remembered that she had seen 
some one slip behind the dairy as she crossed 
the courtyard at dusk the evening before. She 
thought at the time that it was one of the band 
who had just come down from the practice 
room. 

“ It was Hubert. I am sure it must have been 
Hubert. It was just his height. Mamma, he 


64 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

may have slipped into the dairy and poured 
water into the empty jugs as they stood on their 
shelf,” exclaimed Saskia, springing up from her 
chair. 

“ Gently, my child, gently, you must not ac¬ 
cuse any one without knowing, but I do recall 
now that I left the dairy open while I was feed¬ 
ing the cows in their shed and any one might 
have gone in, it is true.” 

The children said no more, but Gerard felt 
in his heart that it was Hubert, and no other, 
who had done them this injury. 

However, the next day when Hubert met 
Gerard he seemed so sorry to hear of Gerard’s 
trouble that the latter was ashamed of his sus¬ 
picions and told Saskia she must have been mis¬ 
taken. How the water got into the jugs was 
still a mystery. 


CHAPTER V 


THE BAND COMPETITION 

Gerard had a happy smile on his face one 
morning soon after the adventure in the Kooter. 
It was the first time since that unhappy day. He 
had great news for his friends at the Beguinage. 
There was to be a “ concours,” or competition, 
of bands from all over the country to be held at 
Ghent, and prizes had been offered by the Bur¬ 
gomaster, and Mynheer Porbus, the great musi¬ 
cian, had offered one for the best boys’ band. 

Gerard had already called a meeting of the 
“ Leuw van Vlaanderen ” to decide what was to 
be done. Among those present was fat, red¬ 
faced Karel, who blew the big horn, and Ber¬ 
nard, the trombone player, and little Boons, who 
beat the big drum. Hubert was also there, and 

65 


66 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

a number of others who were just ordinary, 
good-natured little Flemish boys. All the mem¬ 
bers of the band were for entering the competi¬ 
tion, save Hubert alone, who mocked at the idea. 

“ Why, Jan Trynk’s band has a better chance 
of winning than we/’ he said contemptuously. 
Now every one knew that Jan Trynk’s band was 
the worst in the whole neighborhood and Ge¬ 
rard and his fellows became very indignant. 

“ Why, ducks couldn’t keep time to their 
music,” said Bernard, jealous of their own fine 
playing. 

“ If each will only do his best and always be 
on hand for the practising I don’t see why we 
shouldn’t stand as good a chance of winning the 
prize as any other of the boys’ bands,” declared 
Gerard, valiantly. 

The boys knew that this was largely meant 
for Hubert, who could really play well, but was 
too lazy to work hard and shirked his practice 
every chance he could. 


The Band Competition 67 

Finally it was decided that the Leuw van 
Vlaanderen should compete for the prize offered 
the young people’s bands. There was a chance 
to win not only a medal but a sum of money as 
well. Never did Gerard work so hard. He was 
up at the earliest gleam of daylight'so as to be 
able to get his regular duties over the sooner 
that he might have an extra hour for practising. 
He drilled and drilled his little company with 
untiring energy and patience. He hunted up 
laggards and would take no excuses for absence. 
Twice a day they must meet for practice, after 
the midday meal, and again in the evening when 
the day’s work was done. 

“ Gerard will be the death of us,” gasped 
little, round fat Karel, the hornblower, one af¬ 
ternoon. “ I am blown to pieces,” he added, 
wiping his hot perspiring face. ‘ 

‘‘ He will make himself ill, I fear, if he goes 
on like this,” Vrouw Maes said to Aunt Ursula 
at market one morning, as she was sitting under 


68 Our Little Belgian Cousin 


a big umbrella with her baskets of vegetables 
piled up around her and Hugo sleeping on his 
piece of carpet beside the cart. 

“ Gerard is ambitious. It is a good sign in 
so young a lad. He is healthy and strong and 
I think he will continue to do his work as well 
as before, and even if he does not get the prize 
for his band the stimulus of having tried for it 
will be of use to him in the future,” said Aunt 
Ursula by the way of encouragement to Ge¬ 
rard’s mother. Aunt Ursula was a good 
friend to Gerard and always stood up for 
him. 

“ I know he will win the prize,” exclaimed 
little Helda, who really thought no one could 
play like Gerard, and had great faith in his 
leadership of the band. 

Helda and her aunt had just come from the 
flower-market, and Helda carried a lovely basket 
of blossoms. They were intended to help deco¬ 
rate the church of the Beguinage on the follow- 


The Band Competition 69 

ing Sunday. There are most beautiful gardens 
around Ghent, and acres of green-houses where 
rare flowers are grown under glass. 

At last the great day came. Gerard’s band 
was to meet in the Kooter of their little village 
and take the tramway into Ghent. Long before 
the appointed hour the boys were all in their 
places, scrubbed and brushed until their little, 
round faces fairly shone, and dressed in their 
Sunday best with their instruments all nicely 
polished. The village folk shouted good luck 
to them as they left. 

At the Beguinage Helda was almost as excited 
as if she were to play in the band herself. She 
and Aunt Ursula started early for the Kooter in 
order to get good places. 

The stands on which the bands were to play 
had been erected in the middle of the square 
and nearby there were seats for the Burgomaster 
and the Judges. Everywhere Belgian flags 
were flying and garlands of flowers and bright 


70 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

colored streamers were hung from the trees 
w’hich bordered the square. 

Helda and her aunt found good places in a 

row of chairs nearest the band-stand. It w’as 
great fun for Helda to watch the crowd as it 
gathered. Every one was in his best holiday 
suit and w^ore his, or her, best, smiling, holiday 
countenance. 

Around the edge of the Kooter there were 
many little booths, all gaily decorated, which 
sold cold drinks and sweets and food of various 
kinds. 

Soon the various bands began to gather. 
They marched up with banners and flags flying 
in the breeze, and fifes and drums making a ter¬ 
rific noise. As the friends of each particular 
band would recognize it they would set up a 
great Hip ! hip ! hurrah! in Flemish, cheering 
until they were hoarse. 

Soon the young people’s bands began to arrive 
on the scene. Helda was craning her neck in 













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n'w 



The Band Competition 71 

every direction trying to find Gerard’s band 
among them. “ Child, you will tire yourself out 
before the music begins,” chided Aunt Ursula, 
though actually she was almost as excited as 
Helda herself. 

“ Here they come! ” cried Helda, jumping up 
on her chair that she might see better. 

The little band was marching bravely across 
the Kooter, its standard bearer at the fore, hold¬ 
ing aloft their yellow banner, which, as it waved 
in the breeze, showed a big red lion and the 
words: “ Leuw van Vlaanderen ” in big letters. 

“ Oh! are not Gerard and the boys splen¬ 
did?” cried Helda, clapping her hands. 

The crowd in the Kooter gave an extra cheer 
as Gerard and his band came up, for the boys 
were the youngest of any who were to compete 
that day. The boys of our little band, too, were 
mostly poor boys and were not able to have nice 
bright uniforms like many of the others. All 
they could afford in the way of a decoration was 


72 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

a sash of ribbon of the Belgian colors, red, yel¬ 
low and black; but they all wore well polished 
shoes, in place of their every-day sabots. 

V The members of some of the other bands 
smiled rather contemptuously at the get-up of 
Gerard and his allies while one set of young 
fellows, all rigged out in fine new green uni¬ 
forms with red facings and gold buttons, snick¬ 
ered and nudged one another significantly. This 
particular boys’ band had a long row of medals 
hung from the top of their banner, which they 
had won in previous competitions. 

The little “ Lions of Flanders ” did not care 
a bit for the sneers. “Wait and see who can 
play the best; that will be the real test,” they 
said to themselves over and over again. What 
difference did it make if there was but one silver 
medal hanging from their banner (that which 
they had won from Jan Trynk’s band) there 
was room for all the more. Gerard felt that 
they had put their very best efforts into the prac- 


The Band Competition 73 

tising and that they would surely win unless 
something went wrong; and when little boys and 
girls feel that way about a thing they are usually 
right. 

The Burgomaster and the Judges took their 
seats on the platform and the Kooter was so 
crowded with people that one could scarcely 
breathe freely. Some one got up and made a 
long speech, and, finally, the Burgomaster rose 
and gave the signal for the music to begin. 

Band after band in gay uniforms mounted the 
platform in turn. There was a great blowing 
of trumpets and beating of drums, followed by 
a great clapping of hands and “ bravos ” in 
Flemish as each band finished its performance. 

Gerard’s band being the youngest, came last, 
but, in a way, this was to their advantage. They 
looked a fine lot of sturdy little fellows in their 
grey linen blouses and peaked caps as Gerard 
marshalled them into place, their Lion of Flan¬ 
ders flag in their midst. 


74 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

They gave a military salute to the Burgo¬ 
master and Judges and began tuning up. Most 
of the boys were a bit nervous and Karel blew 
out his horn so many times that Bernard nudged 
him and told him to stop or the people would 
think he was a bellows. 

At last Gerard gave the signal with his baton 
and with a triumphal burst the band began to 
play one of the most popular Flemish airs. 
Never had they played better. Never had Ge¬ 
rard led his band with such a fiery determina¬ 
tion. Such a round of applause as greeted them 
when they had finished; it was the loudest of 
the day! 

There was a long wait while the Judges put 
their heads together and compared notes. 
Helda grasped her aunt’s hand tightly, and even 
Aunt Ursula herself was manifestly anxious. 
Gerard breathed hard, but did not dare look 
towards where his mother and little Saskia 
were sitting. Would the Judges never get 


The Band Competition 75 

through talking and nodding their heads so seri¬ 
ously? 

At last the Burgomaster arose. You could 
have heard a leaf stir. Then he slowly put on 
his glasses and glanced at a paper in his hand 
and began to slowly read out the names of the 
prize-winners. There was a gold medal to be 
awarded, one of silver and one of bronze. The 
grown-up bands came first, of course, and each 
name was received with cheers from its friends, 
and some growls, too, from the dissatisfied ones. 
Finally the Burgomaster reached the juvenile 
bands. 

“ It is with great pleasure,” he began pom¬ 
pously, — “ Oh! how slowly he talks,” cried 
out Helda, softly — “ it is with much pleasure 
— ahem — that I announce to you here from 
this platform that the gold medal, and an ad¬ 
ditional cash prize of fifty francs, for the boys’ 
bands, has been awarded to the youngest of our 
‘ Circles,’ the ‘ Leuw van Vlaanderen.’ ” 


76 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

Gerard was as if rooted to the spot where he 
stood, but some one gave him a push forward 
toward the platform and he managed to stam¬ 
mer out a simple “ Thank you,” to the Burgo¬ 
master, and make a low bow to the Judges. The 
Burgomaster handed him their hard-earned 
prize, and somehow or other Gerard got back 
to his place when the boys flung themselves upon 
him in great joy, all laughing and talking. 

Then Gerard became conscious that his 
mother and Saskia and Helda and Aunt Ursula 
were surrounding him, all laughing and crying 
at the same time. 

Wasn’t Gerard a hero! Well, you may be 
sure of it. He was the happiest little boy in all 
Flanders at that moment. The Judges called up 
all the members of the little band and shook 
hands with them. On the stand was a tall man 
with long black hair flung back from his fore¬ 
head who patted Gerard on the shoulder and 
said that it was easy to see that he was a born 


The Band Competition 77 

musician. Some one told him afterwards that 
this was the great violinist from Brussels. 

With hands trembling with joy Gerard fas¬ 
tened the medal on the banner where it hung 
proudly above the Red Lion. 

When they started for home Gerard was sur¬ 
prised to find that Hubert was not there, and 
though he looked around everywhere for him 
he could not be found, so they were obliged to 
leave without him. 

The truth was Hubert felt so miserable and 
jealous when he saw Gerard, his rival, walk up 
to receive the medal from the Burgomaster and 
the congratulations of the Judges, that he 
slipped away so that he might hide his anger 
and disappointment. 

Hubert’s pride in his music had helped him to 
% 

play through his part well, but he could bear 
Gerard’s triumph no longer, for he knew, as did 
everyone, that the real credit for the band’s ex¬ 
cellent performance belonged to its little leader. 


78 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

Gerard knew exactly what was the matter when 
he found Hubert missing, and it almost spoiled 
his pleasure for a moment, but in the excitement 
of getting the tram back to their village and the 
congratulations of his friends Hubert was for¬ 
gotten. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE LOST VIOLIN 

Gerard and his little band had now to decide 
how they should spend their prize money. 
Every day Gerard had a new plan. He asked 
advice from Helda and Aunt Ursula each time 
he brought the milk, and proposed the wildest 
things imaginable. One was that they should 
build a club-house: Karel suggested that they 
should get uniforms with the money, but when 
they came to figure it out they found they could 
only buy about two uniforms and a half so that 
was manifestly unpractical, while as for the 
club-house that was even more nearly impos¬ 
sible. 

One serious-minded boy did suggest that they 

should lay in a stock of music, but all vetoed 

79 


8 o Our Little Belgian Cousin 


that motion. Even Gerard admitted that they 
ought to have some “ real fun ” with the money. 

So matters stood one evening when the boys 
had gathered to play their favorite game of ball 
in the little Kooter of the village. The little 
Flemish boys play their game with a ball some¬ 
thing like a tennis ball, which they knock about 
from one to another, using a wooden bat with 
a kind of gauntlet fitted over the hand like a 
glove, in fact the boys call the bat the gant, 
which means glove. Even very young Belgian 
boys become very skilful at the game. 

Hubert was playing this evening for the first 
time in some days, but Gerard, for some reason 
or another, was not present. 

In the midst of the game Gerard came flying 
up and called out breathlessly, “ What do you 
think, boys, I have a chance to earn some money 
with my violin. The school-master,” he went 
on excitedly, “ has just been to the farm and he 
says that they want me to play for them to dance 


The Lost Violin 


8i 


at the big Kermesse which is to be held at Os- 
tend next month. 

“ It all came about through one of the Judges 
at the competition. He lives at Ostend. The 
school-master knows him,” went on Gerard, 
“ and when he heard I could play the violin and 
wanted to make some money so as to study he 
said that perhaps he could help me.” 

Gerard’s little friends were as pleased as him¬ 
self, all except Hubert, who seemed to be pay¬ 
ing no attention at all, but who went on knock¬ 
ing the ball blindly about, when, finally with an 
Impatient mutter, he stalked away with a black 
look on his face. 

“ Now, boys, here’s a good way to spend our 
prize money,” exclaimed Karel. “ We will all 
go down to the Kermesse with Gerard. That 
will be having some fun with the money, will it 
not?” The little fellows all clapped their 
hands and agreed that It would. 

A Kermesse is a great fair held out of doors. 


82 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

Every town and village in Belgium has its own 
special Kermesse and the people make a great 
holiday of the occasion, with dancing, merry¬ 
making and all kinds of games. 

Helda and Aunt Ursula were as pleased as 
Gerard himself when they heard the news and 
listened with the greatest interest while Gerard 
rattled away of the wonderful things he was 
going to do with the money he w^as to earn. 

Perhaps if the people at the Kermesse liked 
his music he would be able to play at other 
Kermesses and thus make a great deal more 
money, and then he could buy another dog, for 
Hugo was getting old now. Then, too, they 
could have a better and a bigger cart. Perhaps, 
too, he might in time be able to play at concerts, 
as did the school-master, and then, maybe, he 
would be earning enough money to be able to 
hire some one to help his mother on the farm, 
in which case, Gerard went on with shining 
eyes, he might even be able to go to the great 


The Lost Violin 83 

city of Brussels where one can study the vio¬ 
lin better than anywhere else in the world, 
and take lessons of the great violin master 
there. 

“ Oh, Aunt Ursula, why can’t we go to the 
Kermesse> too?” cried Helda with enthusiasm. 

“ Dear child, you must know I can not leave 
my work here, and as much as I should be glad 
to give you the pleasure of seeing the Kermesse 
it is impossible,” and Aunt Ursula looked really 
sorry, for she did not like to disappoint her little 
niece. 

Gerard whistled and sang all through his 
work that morning; he was busier than usual, 
too, for he had lingered along his route telling 
the news to all his friends, so it was nearly dark 
when he got back home and went up to his 
room. 

He was tired, but still, as was his habit, he 
* 

went to get his violin for a few minutes’ prac¬ 
tice. He went to the chest where it was kept 


84 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

and opened the case when, to his astonishment, 
he saw that his beloved violin was gone. His 
first thought was that his mother or Saskia had 
taken it down stairs, but his heart misgave him 
as he flew down to the living room. 

No, neither his mother nor Saskia had 
touched the violin. They searched the house 
all over, turning out every corner, but could dis¬ 
cover no trace of the instrument. Some one 
must have stolen it when they were all away 
from the house. Vrouw Maes never locked up 
her house while they were at work on the farm, 
nor did her neighbors, for they were all honest 
folk in the neighborhood, and never before had 
anything been missed. 

Poor Gerard was in despair. He kept on 
looking in the most unlikely places, never heed¬ 
ing his mother’s entreaties that he should wait 
until morning. At last he gave up hope and 
flung himself on his mother’s bed and wept. 

There was not much sleep at the farm that 


The Lost Violin 85 

night. Bad news flies fast, and before noon all 
the neighbors had heard of Gerard’s loss. 

The little band held an indignation meeting 
and organized a search themselves, but with no 
success. Whoever could have done such a mean 
act? It could only have been some one who 
knew the way about the house. But why should 
he have taken only the violin? It must have 
been some one with a spite against Gerard him¬ 
self. 

“Where’s Hubert?” suddenly asked Karel, 
as the boys stood in a group debating the mat¬ 
ter. For the first time they realized that he had 
not been seen for two days. The boys looked 
at each other. The same thought came to all 
of them. Could it have been Hubert? They 
well knew how jealous he was of Gerard and 
his music. 

A few minutes later Karel was back with a 
sober look on his merry little face. At Hubert’s 
house he had been told that Hubert had gone 


86 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

early that morning to Tournai, to stay a week 
with an uncle of his who was a weaver in a car¬ 
pet factory. This looked strange, and the boys 
began to whisper among themselves. Things 
began to look black for Hubert. 

As for poor Gerard, he was sitting at home 
in the courtyard his head buried in his hands, 
his only company the dogs. They were won¬ 
dering, no doubt, what was the matter with their 
little master. But Gerard took no notice of 
them, he could not bear even to have any one 
talk to him. His only thought was that now 
he would not be able to play at the Kermesse, 
nor at any other time, for how would he ever 
be able to get enough money to buy another vio¬ 
lin? All his chances of earning money were lost. 

“ It was Hubert. We are sure it was Hu¬ 
bert,” declared Karel, who had come over to try 
and cheer Gerard up. 

Gerard shook his head. “ I don’t believe it,” 
he said. “ Hubert may not have liked me, but 


The Lost Violin 87 

I am sure he would never have done me an in¬ 
jury like this.” But, as he spoke, he remem¬ 
bered the milk inspection and Saskia’s suspicions, 
and it set him to thinking. Could Hubert really 
have taken the violin? What difference did it 
make who had taken the violin! The violin 
was gone. 

Things soon fell back into their usual routine, 
except that Gerard did not laugh nor whistle at 
his work any more. The boys talked of it when 
they met, but the subject was gradually dropped 
because they saw it hurt Gerard to even think 
about it. 

One hot afternoon Gerard was sitting beside 
the canal that ran back of the farm, idly watch¬ 
ing a tall white bird hovering over the water. 
It was a heron who with his long bill was try¬ 
ing to spear a fish for his supper. A noise dis¬ 
turbed the bird, and Gerard, looking up, saw 
Hubert walking along the opposite bank. He 
evidently did not see Gerard, but went on until 


88 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

he came near a bridge when, throwing off his 
clothes, he dived down into the water. He did 
this several times, for, like Gerard, he was as 
much at his ease in the water as a frog. 

Gerard had just made up his mind to go and 
speak to him when just as Hubert dived again 
he struck his head on one of the bridge tim¬ 
bers. 

As fast as he could Gerard ran towards the 
spot where Hubert had gone down, and kicking 
off his sabots and throwing down his coat and 
cap he leaped into the canal and, as Hubert rose 
for the second time, caught him and with much 
effort drew him to the bank. 

Gerard and the bridge-tender dragged the 
unconscious Hubert up the steep canal bank and 
carried him to Vrouw Maes’ house. Some one 
rushed for a doctor. Some one else for Hu¬ 
bert’s folks. The neighbors all came running 
in to help, and it was several hours before Hu¬ 
bert was brought around to his senses. He was 


The Lost Violin 89 

put in Gerard’s attic room, and Vrouw Maes 
nursed him as if he were her own boy. 

Gerard was the hero of the hour. Hubert 
would undoubtedly have drowned but for him. 
Only a hardy little Flemish head could have 
stood such a knock, but Hubert mended rapidly. 
As soon as the doctor would allow it Hubert 
begged to be taken to his own home. He 
seemed grateful for all that the Maes family 
had done for him, but they saw he was anxious 
to get away. 

Shortly after Hubert returned home he sent 
word to Gerard to come to see him. Gerard 
found him lying on a sofa by the window alone. 

“ I asked them all to go out of the room,” 
said Hubert, looking up at Gerard as he stood 
beside him. “ I have something to tell you that 
I couldn’t mention in your house; you have all 
been so good to me. 

“ Gerard,” he went on, “ come closer; it was 
I who took your violin. I climbed into the attic 


go Our Little Belgian Cousin 

window when no one was about. I was so angry 
that I did not know what I was doing. I only 
knew that I could not bear to have you play at 
the Kermesse. 

“ But I did not injure the violin. I did not 
know what to do with it after I had taken it so 
I stole into the cow-shed and hid it away up un¬ 
der the eaves. You will find it there just above 
the white cow’s stall. It must be safe. No¬ 
body would ever think of looking for it there.” 

Gerard stood speechless. His relief was so 
great that he could have hugged Hubert. He 
forgot the wrong which had been done him, and 
was only conscious that he had his violin back. 

“ I might as well tell you everything,” Hu¬ 
bert went on quickly, before Gerard could speak. 
“ It was I, too, who put the water in the milk 
on the day of the inspection. I went into the 
dairy the evening before and put the water in 
the empty jugs. Saskia nearly caught me. I 
wanted to injure you, and now I hate myself 


The Lost Violin 


91 

every time I think of it. But here,” he said, 
taking a little bag out of his blouse, “ is the 
money for the fine you had to pay. I saved it 
up. I always meant to tell you about it some 
day and pay it back.” 

“ No, no, Hubert,” cried Gerard, who prob¬ 
ably felt worse for Hubert than Hubert did for 
himself, “ I won’t take it. Don’t you know that 
the Jufvrouw Ursula paid the fine? ” 

“ Never mind; take it anyway. It will make 
up for some of the harm that I have done you 
and I will tell the milk inspector all about it, 
too. You may tell your mother and sister, but 
you will not tell the boys, will you?” asked 
Hubert, anxiously. 

“ I will not tell anybody but my mother,” de¬ 
clared Gerard stoutly. “ And it will make no 
difference between us; you can come back in the 
band and everything will be just the same as it 
used to be,” he went on, for Gerard was a gen¬ 
erous little boy. 


92 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

“ No, no, I know the boys suspect me,” mut¬ 
tered Hubert. “ I am going away. I am going 
to Tournai to live with my uncle and learn to 
become a carpet weaver. You have been a bet¬ 
ter friend to me than I deserve. Now go away, 
Gerard, and find the violin.” With these words 
Hubert buried his face In his pillow. 

Gerard tried to make Hubert take back his 
money, but the latter only shook his head and 
motioned for him to go. 

As soon as Gerard arrived home he rushed 
to the cow-house and astonished the white cow 
so calmly chewing her cud by climbing up over 
her head. There, tucked In under the eaves, and 
hidden by the straw, was his beloved Instrument. 

True to his promise to Hubert Gerard told 
nobody but his mother. He merely explained to 
every one that his violin had been found, and 
that whoever had taken It had only Intended to 
play a prank on him. 

When Hubert was well enough he took Ge- 


The Lost Violin 


93 

rard and went and confessed his fault to the 
milk inspector. It might have gone hard with 
Hubert had not Gerard begged so earnestly that 
the authorities let him off with a good scolding. 
So the inspector gave it out that some enemy 
had watered the milk and that the Maes family 
were in no way to blame for it. Thus Gerard 
cleared himself without harm to his companion. 

The members of the band may have had their 
suspicions when Hubert left the neighborhood, 
but they were loyal and kept things to them¬ 
selves. Aunt Ursula asked no questions, only 
telling the little milk-man again and again how 
glad she was that he had found his violin. Ge¬ 
rard very much wished that he could pay back 
to Aunt Ursula the money she had so kindly 
given him, but that would be telling, so he gave 
it to his mother to spend as she thought best. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE KERMESSE 

Gerard and his little friends began to make 
their preparations for going to the Kermesse. 
Their parents had all given their consent as soon 
as they learned that the school-master had prom¬ 
ised to go with the boys to see that they did not 
get into mischief. 

Helda was the only one who had any troubles 
left. She, too, wanted very much to go to the 
Kermesse. How could it be managed? She 
knew that it was useless to worry Aunt Ursula 
about it, but the good lady knew well what 
Helda had on her mind, for though she was 
usually as lively and chirpy as a bird she now 
went about with a very thoughtful and sad face. 
Aunt Ursula said nothing, thinking it better to 

94 


The Kermesse 


95 

let Helda find a way out of her difficulty her¬ 
self. 

After much thought Helda wrote a very 
blotty, but nice, little letter to her family ask¬ 
ing why her papa and mamma would not like 
to go to the Kermesse and take her along, too. 
She then carefully directed the envelope to 
Mynheer Shorel, Bruges, and dropped it into 
the letter box by the great gate of the Beguin- 
age. 

But alas! Papa Shorel wrote back and said 
that while he would like nothing better than to 
give his little daughter pleasure and that he and 
her mamma would enjoy seeing a Kermesse 
again but — and it was a big BUT — he was 
just in the midst of curing the flax and Helda 
would know how busy they all were, and that 
neither he nor her mamma could think of leav¬ 
ing home just at the present time. 

Helda sighed. Yes, it was so. She had for¬ 
gotten how very busy every one was at the time 


96 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

of drying out the flax before It was put away in 
the big storage lofts behind the house. 

Helda’s mother reread the letter and smiled 
over It and thoughtfully set about to. work out a 
plan. Helda’s brother, Dirk, was soon coming 
home from Antwerp, and he might stop on his 
way and take his little sister for a day to the 
Kermesse. This decided, Vrouw Shorel wrote a 
letter to Dirk and a letter to Helda, and you 
can Imagine what a happy little girl Helda was 
when she learned how It had all been arranged. 

Just before the Kermesse Dirk came. He 
had grown so tall and looked to Helda so like 
a grown man, and he probably felt that he was 
one too, though he was only fifteen. Helda 
thought he was a wonderful brother as she lis¬ 
tened to his tales about Antwerp, the fine old 
city, with Its beautiful old cathedral with Its tall 
tower and the old buildings and the valuable 
pictures. Ships come and go from every port 
of the world to the very city gates. Helda lls- 


The Kermesse 97 

tened attentively as Dirk told of the great ware¬ 
houses and the wealthy merchants and valuable 
cargoes from over-seas that were piled up on 
the quays. Dirk himself had walked between 
piles of ivory tusks of elephants, out of which 
all sorts of ivory things were carved, and had 
seen bales and bales of rubber from the great 
African forests. 

Dirk said that when he had finished school 
he was going to work in the office of one of the 
great Antwerp merchants who dealt in rubber. 
“ These merchants of Antwerp are rich men,” 
said Dirk. “ I am going to be a merchant in 
Antwerp myself some day, and Helda, you can 
come and live with me and keep house for me,” 
finished up the big boy, grandly. And, of 
course, Helda said she would, and forgot for 
the time all about her wish to become a Beg- 
uine. 

On the day of the Kermesse there were no 
laggards at the train that was to take them to 


98 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

Ostend. The little band had clubbed together 
to share all the expenses and buy the tickets. 

The train was crowded with holiday-makers 
for the Kermesse at Ostend was always a very 
popular event, the city being situated right on 
the sea. It was with some little difficulty that all 
our little friends found seats but finally they 
were all placed. Dirk and Helda with Saskia, 
whom Helda had brought with them. Gerard 
hugged his violin case in his arms, and the rest 
of the boys, with freshly scrubbed faces and in 
their best clothes, fairly brimmed over with glee. 

It was not long before they were at Ostend. 
Everything was very gay, everywhere were gar¬ 
lands and flags flying. Booths were set up on 
either side of the streets and there were tents 
for the dancers in the middle of all the Kooters. 
Already there were such crowds swinging up 
and down the streets that the children found it 
hard to make their way and keep together. 

Gerard would never have been able to find 


The Kermesse 


99 

his way but for the help of the school-master, 
who piloted him to the tent where he was to 
play for the dancing. Here Gerard was in¬ 
stalled on a high wooden seat half hidden in the 
greenery and bunting and soon began to play to 
let the people know that the dancing was about 
to commence. He felt a little strange at first, 
especially when his friend the school-master had 
to hurry away to look after the rest of the party, 
but as soon as he drew his bow across the violin 
all his shyness left him and he played away so 
merrily that the couples at once began to come 
into the tent and take their places on the sand- 
strewn floor. 

Meanwhile, after listening to Gerard for a 
time, Dirk and Helda and Saskia joined hands 
to keep from becoming separated and wandered 
about just bent on having a good time. There 
were the usual amusements to be found at a 
Belgian Kermesse, merry-go-rounds, shooting 
galleries, places where fortunes were told, noisy 


lOO Our Little Belgian Cousin 

mechanical melodeons grinding out popular 
Flemish airs, and everywhere were stacks and 
stacks of brown gingerbread. 

It all seemed very marvellous to the children. 
Dirk was at first a little high and mighty, and 
tried to tell them how much better it was all 
done in Antwerp, but he soon forgot his dignity 
and entered into all the fun with as much glee 
as did Helda and Saskia. 

When it was time for luncheon they went 
back for Gerard, who was then released from 
his duties until later on in the afternoon. 

The whole party gathered on the beach where 
they ate the lunch which they had brought with 
them, and afterwards walked up and down the 
Digue, a splendid promenade, or walk, which 
runs for more than a mile along the shore, lined 
on one side by magnificent villas and hotels. 

The best part of the day for the children 
was when the Archery Clubs began their prac¬ 
tice. There are numbers of clubs of archers in 



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“the archers were drawn up on the’ shooting field 

BEFORE THEIR TARGETS.” 








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The Kermesse 


lOI 


Belgium to-day, as there have been for long 
years, for, in the old days, the Belgian archers 
were a famous body of fighters. They defended 
their countr}^ from invasion for hundreds of 
years. 

“ Are they not fine ? ” exclaimed Helda, as 
the archers were drawn up on the shooting field 
before their targets. 

The archers wore green jerkins, or belted-in 
coats, leather knee breeches and buskins, and 
little bonnets, or caps, of green, with a feather 
on one side, were set jauntily on their heads. 
Each archer carried a long bow just like the 
bows with which the ancient archers were 
equipped, and slung over the shoulder was a 
leather case, or quiver, which held the ar¬ 
rows. 

By this time Gerard was playing to a much 
bigger crowd than in the morning. Presently 
he saw a tall man with long black hair brushed 
back from the forehead watching him from the 


102 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

other side of the tent. It was the same man 
who had been beside the Burgomaster at the 
band competition. 

When the dance was finished the tall man 
walked over to Gerard and said, “ So you are 
a violinist as well as the leader of a band, my 
little man. Who taught you to play the vio¬ 
lin?” 

Gerard then told him of his struggles to be¬ 
come a musician and how he loved music, and 
how it was the dream of his life to be able to 
study under the great master at Brussels. 

The man’s rather severe face softened as the 
little boy poured out his story. 

You must have the chance,” he said, when 
Gerard had finished his tale. “ You play better 
than you know, my little fellow.” 

He then took a card out of his pocket and 
wrote something on it and handed it to Gerard. 
Gerard gasped when he read the name on the 
card. It was that of the great violinist of 


The Kermesse 


103 

Brussels. Not only the best in Belgium, but one 
of the best in the world. 

“You know that name, eh?” continued the 
tall man with half a smile. 

Did Gerard know it? Did not every music 
lover in Belgium know it? 

“ Well, you must come to me in Brussels and 
I will see that you become the violinist that you 
wish to be. It will cost you nothing, and I can 
soon put you in the way of earning money. Now 
talk it over at home. The directions on the card 
will tell you how to find me when you are ready 
to come to Brussels. No, don’t thank me ” — 
as Gerard began to stammer—“ I am always 
looking for boys such as you. I see they are 
waiting for you to begin again, so good-by for 
the present, and don’t forget.” 

Before Gerard could utter a word the tall 
man had gone. Gerard was dazed. How he 
went on playing he never knew. Was this really 
he, little Gerard Maes ? Was it not all a dream ? 


104 Little Belgian Cousin 

How the school-master ever managed to get 
his little charges together again is difficult to tell, 
but it was finally accomplished and at dusk the 
weary but happy little party of young folks 
found themselves on the train homeward 
bound. 

Some had their pockets stuffed with knick- 
knacks which they had bought. Dirk had a 
walking stick and Helda had bought a ginger¬ 
bread lion for Aunt Ursula. Karel had cut his 
thumb on a wonderful knife he had bought, and 
every one had more or less sticky fingers and 
faces. 

It was a sleepy lot that finally separated to 
go to their homes that night, but Gerard and 
his mother sat up very late talking seriously 
together. 

Did Gerard’s dream come true? Yes, it did. 
Gerard did go to Brussels to study with the 
great violinist who had befriended him, and 
Aunt Ursula loaned him enough money so that 


The Kermesse 105 

his mother might hire some one to help her in 
his stead. 

Gerard studied diligently in Brussels under 
his master, and worked so hard that he was soon 
able to play at important concerts when he com¬ 
menced to make money seriously. 

The very first money that he earned he sent to 
Aunt Ursula to repay her loan, and he was soon 
able to send some to his mother, too, but the first 
time that he had any left over for himself he 
bought a fine, young, strong dog for the cart so 
that good, faithful old Hugo could rest from his 
long hard work and sleep on a mat before 
the door and do nothing, like a real house 
dog. 

Little Helda^s dream came true, too. She 
made great progress in her work and became 
a maker of beautiful lace like Aunt Ursula, so 
that the visitors who came to buy lace of the 
Groot Jufvrouw almost always chose some from 
the stock made by Helda. 


io6 Our Little Belgian Cousin 

And you will be glad to know that the little 
band prospered under Karel’s leadership, and 
that Hubert became an excellent carpet weaver 
and a fine young fellow. 


THE END. 


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Miss Fox’s new book deals with the fortunes of the de¬ 
lightful Mulvaney children. 

SEVEN LITTLE WISE MEN 

By Frances Margaret Fox. 

Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated in colors by 

E. B. Barry.; H.pO 

In this new story Miss Fox relates how seven little chil¬ 
dren, who lived in Sunny California, prepared for the great 
Christmas Festival. 

A—7 



L. C, PAGE 6- COMPANY'S 


PUSSY-CAT TOWN 

By Marion Ames Taggart. 

Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and deco¬ 
rated in colors.$1.00 

“ Anything more interesting than the doings of the cats 
in this story, their humor, their wisdom, their patriotism, 
would be hard to imagine.” — Chicago Post. 

THE ROSES OF SAINT ELIZABETH 

By Jane Scott Woodruff. 

Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated 
in colors by Adelaide Everhart .... $1.00 

This is a charming little story of a child whose father was 
caretaker of the great castle of the Wartburg. 

GABRIEL AND THE HOUR BOOK 

By Evaleen Stein. 

Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and deco¬ 
rated in colors bv Adelaide Everhart . . . $1.00 

Gabriel was a loving, patient, little French lad, who 
assisted the monks in the long ago days, when all the books 
were WTitten and illuminated by hand, in the monasteries. 

A LITTLE SHEPHERD OF PROVENCE 

By Evaleen Stein. 

Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated in colors by 

Diantha Horne Marlowe.$1.00 

This is the story of Little lame Jean, a goatherd of 
Provence, and of the “ golden goat ” who is supposed 
to guard a hidden treasure. 

THE ENCHANTED AUTOMOBILE 

Translated from the French by Mary J. Safford. 

Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and deco¬ 
rated in colors by Edna M. Sawyer . , . $1.00 

“ An up-to-date French fairy-tale which fairly radiates 
the spirit of the hour, — unceasing diligence.” — Chicago 
Record-Herald. 

0-HEART-SAN 

The Story of a Japanese Girl. By Helen Eggles¬ 
ton Haskell. 

Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and deco¬ 
rated in colors by Frank P. Fairbanks ... $1.00 

“ The story comes straight from the heart of Japan. 
From every page breathes the fragrance of tea leaves, 
cherry blossoms and chrysanthemums.’’ — The Chicago 
Inter-Ocean, 

A—8 



BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


THE YOUNG SECTION-HAND; Or, The Ad¬ 
ventures OF Allan West. By Burton E. Stevenson. 
Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . $1.50 

Mr. Stevenson’s hero is a manly lad of sixteen, who is 
given a chance as a section-hand on a big Western rail¬ 
road, and whose experiences are as real as they are thrilling. 

THE YOUNG TRAIN DISPATCHER. By Bur¬ 
ton E. Stevenson. 

Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . $1.50 

“ A better book for boys has never left an American 
press.” — Springfield Union. 

THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER. By Burton E. 

Stevenson. 

Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . $1.50 

” Nothing better in the way of a book of adventure for 
boys in which the actualities of life are set forth in a practi¬ 
cal way could be devised or written.” — Boston Herald. 

CAPTAIN JACK LORIMER. By Winn Standish. 

Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . $1.50 

Jack is a fine example of the all-around American high- 
school boy. 

JACK LORIMER’S CHAMPIONS; Or, Sports 

ON Land and Lake. By Winn Standish. 

Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . $1.50 

“It is exactly the sort of book to give a boy interested 
in athletics, for it shows him what it means to always 
‘ play fair.’ ” — Chicago Tribune. 

JACK LORIMER’S HOLIDAYS; Or, Millvale 
High in Camp. By Winn Standish. 

Illustrated.$1.50 

Full of just the kind of fun, sports and adventure to 
excite the healthy minded youngster to emulation. 

JACK LORIMER'S SUBSTITUTE; Or, The Act¬ 
ing Captain op the Team. By Winn Standish. 

Illustrated . . ..$1.50 

On the sporting side, this book takes up football, wres¬ 
tling, tobogganing, but it is more of a sclwol story perhaps 
than any of its predecessors. 

A—9 



Z. C. PAGE dr* COMPANY'S 


THE RED FEATHERS. By Theodore Roberts 
Cloth decorative, illustrated . . . . $1.50 

“ The Red Feathers ” tells of the remarkable adventures 
of an Indian boy who lived in the Stone Age, many years 
ago, when the world was young. 

FLYING PLOVER. By Theodore Roberts. 

Cloth decorative. Illustrated by Charles Livingston 

Bull.. . $1.00 

Squat-By-The-Fire is a very old and wise Indian who 
lives alone with her grandson, “ Flying Plover,” to whom 
she tells the stories each evening. 

COMRADES OF THE TRAILS. By G. E. 

Theodore Roberts. 

Cloth decorative. Illustrated by Charles Livingston 
Bull.$1.50 

The story of a fearless young English lad, Dick Ramsey, 
who, after the death of his father, crosses the seas and 
takes up the life of a hunter and trapper in the Canadian 
forests. 

LITTLE WHITE INDIANS. By Fannie E. Os¬ 
trander. 

Cloth decorative, illustrated . . . . $1.25 

“ A bright, interesting story which will appeal strongly 
to the ‘ make-believe ’ instinct in children, and will give 
them a healthy, active interest in ‘ the simple life.’ ” 

THE BOY WHO WON 

By Fannie E. Ostrander, author of “ Little White 
Indians.” 

12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by R. Farrington 

Elwell.$1.25 

A companion volume to “ Little White Indians ” con¬ 
tinuing the adventures of the different “ tribes,” whose 
“ doings ” were so interestingly told in the earlier volume. 

MARCHING WITH MORGAN. How Donald 
Lovell Became a Soldier of the Revolution. 
By John V. Lane. 

Cloth decorative, illustrated .... $1.50 

This is a splendid boy’s story of the expedition of 
Montgomery and Arnold against Quebec. 

A—10 





BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


COSY CORNER SERIES 

It is the intention of the publishers that this series shall 
contain only the very highest and purest literature, — 
stories that shall not only appeal to the children them¬ 
selves, but be appreciated by all those who feel with 
them in their joys and sorrows. 

The numerous illustrations in each book are by well- 
known artists, and each volume has a separate attract¬ 
ive cover design. 

Each 1 vol., 16mo, cloth.$0.50 

By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON 

THE LITTLE COLONEL (Trade Mark.) 

The scene of this story is laid in Kentucky. Its hero¬ 
ine is a small girl, who is known as the Little Colonel, 
on account of her fancied resemblance to an old-school 
Southern gentleman, whose fine estate and old family 
are famous in the region. 

THE GIANT SCISSORS 

This is the story of Joyce and of her adventures in 
France. Joyce is a great friend of the Little Colonel, 
and in later volumes shares with her the delightful ex¬ 
periences of the “ House Party ” and the “ Holidays.” 

TWO LITTLE KNIGHTS OF KENTUCKY 

Who Were the Little Colonel’s Neighbors. 

In this volume the Little Colonel returns to us like an 
old friend, but with added grace and charm. She is not, 
however, the central figure of the story, that place being 
taken by the “ two little knights.” 

MILDRED’S INHERITANCE 

A delightful little story of a lonely English girl who 
comes to America and is befriended by a sympathetic 
American family who are attracted by her beautiful 
speaking voice. By means of this one gift she is en¬ 
abled to help a school-girl who has temporarily lost the 
use of her eyes, and thus finally her life becomes a busy, 
happy one. 

A—11 



L. C. PAGE ^ COMPANY'S 


By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON {Continued) 

CICELY AND OTHER STORIES FOR GIRLS 

The readers of Mrs. Johnston’s charming juveniles 
will be glad to learn of the issue of this volume for young 
people. 

AUNT ’LIZA»S HERO AND OTHER STORIES 

A collection of six bright little stories, which will appeal 
to all boys and most girls. 

BIG BROTHER 

A story of two boys. The devotion and care of Stephen, 
himself a small boy, for his baby brother, is the theme of 
the simple tale. 

OLE MAMMY’S TORMENT 

“ Ole Mammy’s Torment ” has been fitly called “ a 
classic of Southern life.” It relates the haps and mis¬ 
haps of a small negro lad, and tells how he was led by 
love and kindness to a knowledge of the right. 

THE STORY OF DAGO 

In this story Mrs. Johnston relates the story of Dago, 
a pet monkey, owned jointly by two brothers. Dago 
tells his own story, and the account of his haps and mis¬ 
haps is both interesting and amusing. 

THE QUILT THAT JACK BUILT 

A pleasant little story of a boy’s labor of love, and how 
it changed the course of his life many years after it was 
accomplished 

FLIP’S ISLANDS OF PROVIDENCE 

A story of a boy’s life battle, his early defeat, and his 
final triumph, well worth the reading. 

A —12 





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